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An explosion rocked the cave, hurling them both. Time slipped and stilled, Magnus’s only root to reality his hold on Fern. He wrapped her in a protective embrace as they tumbled through the air, through dust and rock and debris, somehow still aware enough to be careful of her wings.

They slammed into a cluster of boulders. Or rather, he did, his back screaming at the impact and all the air bursting from his lungs when Fern’s weight landed fully on his chest.

Mag cupped her face and forced her to look at him, fingers in her hair, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. Sisters, his hands were almost grotesque against her delicate features.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She winced, eyes scrunching closed. “No need to shout, I’m fine.”

At least, he thought was what she said. Only then did he notice his sensitive ears were ringing something fierce, everything muffled.

Thank the Sisters they landed as they had, though. Otherwise, Magnus might have missed the false wall hiding the room’s entrance as it vibrated and shattered, one massive shard tipping right for them.

Mag rolled to the side, caging Fern with his body. The slab of stone came down right where they’d been, its crash echoing through the cavern as it settled.

“Well, that would’ve fucking hurt,” Fern murmured.

“Aye, until we both woke up in the Veil without a care in the world.”

Her laugh was a nervous, airy tremble that pulled his gaze back to her. When their eyes met, Magnus suddenly couldn’t think of a single good reason not to kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her for the next hour.

—Pull yourself together, lad. I can’t hear or feel them⁠—

Fern gasped, snapping out of whatever spell had been cast over them and shoving at him. “Lunara and Brand.”

Weeping fuck.

Magnus scrambled back, pulled Fern to her feet, and spun around.

Just in time to watch the rest of the pieces crumble in on themselves, sealing his brother and the witchling inside.

The stone was living thunder when it erupted.

Lunara threw a shield up but her power flickered. Failed. On a cry, fear surging in her veins, she tore Brand out of the way as the ceiling collapsed, barely saving him in time. Another ripple, another deafening crash. Her legs gave out, nothing beneath her, and the world spun as she flew.

Impact. Agony spiderwebbed across her torso, pulling a curse from her lips. Chunks of rock rained down, pummeling her body, her hands scrambling to keep hold of⁠—

A blink and she was on her back, head splitting, a warm trickle sliding back into her hair.

“Brand?”

Even that one word was a struggle as the dusty, chalky cloud suffocated her. Coughing, choking, Lunara lifted a wide sleeve to cover her face and pushed herself up, desperate to find him in the wreckage.

He’d been right there. Right there.

“Please, please, please,” she begged, stumbling as she searched one-handed. “Brand!”

Lunara couldn’t see. Couldn’t fucking see him.

She cried out when her foot hit something soft. Dropping to her knees, she cleared the debris away and nearly wept when a splash of auburn appeared. The rest was a blur of cracked nails and bleeding knuckles. Of furious profanities. Pleas to the Sisters.

The second he was loose, Lunara turned him over, releasing what fraying threads of magic she had left. When the first steady thump of his heart reached her ears, she was done. The tears streamed freely, relief dizzying even as worry suffused her.

He was alive but injured. Crimson stains bloomed across his tunic. An angry, swelling bruise distorted one cheekbone. Reaching into the ether, she retrieved her flask and chugged down all but a drop of Fern’s blood gift without a thought.

Power, rumbling and stormy as the giver herself, raced through Lunara’s veins. It filled her wounds, knitting them together. Cushioned battered joints and raw nerve endings. Replenished lost blood.

All so she could turn around and undo it as she took his suffering into herself.